


The Mountain

by inspiration_assaulted



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:58:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiration_assaulted/pseuds/inspiration_assaulted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy, Potions Master, finds a job through an unlikely friend. He is recommended to the Appalachian Institute of Magic as their new Professor of Potions.</p><p>Harry Potter has been avoiding the press ever since the death of Voldemort. Sure he has slipped them for good, he runs to America and hides himself in the mountains of West Virginia. There, he makes a living as an Herbologist, supplying both local and foreign plants to potion brewers, as well as tending the greenhouses at the AIM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not really sure where the inspiration for this one came from, other than being a proud and conflicted West Virginian myself. There's something magic in these hills...

Draco Malfoy marveled, once again, at the situation he found himself in, sitting in Neville Longbottom’s house and enjoying a glass of whiskey and conversation with said man.

It had started seven years ago, when he’d begun his potions apprenticeship. He had been working under Horace Slughorn at Hogwarts, thanks to Minerva McGonagall, who had said that if he wasn’t convicted by the Wizengamot, she say no reason why he could not stay. Merlin knows no one else would have accepted him.

Neville had been staying on as an assistant to Professor Sprout. They’d struck up the unlikeliest of friendships over all the times Slughorn had sent him out to collect the ingredients Sprout grew in the greenhouses.

Now, of course, they were both masters in their fields. Neville was a highly respected Herbologist with a successful greenhouse that supplied Apothecaries all over Britain.

Draco was unemployed. He had passed his master’s exams just over a year ago, after five years of study, with some of the highest marks seen in generations, but no one wanted to give him a job. No one wanted to employ a former Death Eater, pardon or not, and he simply didn’t have the money to survive on his own for much longer, not after the reparations his family had paid.

Hence the whiskey and conversation.

“I’m running out of options, Nev,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve only got the money for a couple months’ rent if I don’t get a job soon, and we both know that’s not going to happen.”

Neville swirled his glass, looking deep in thought. “What if,” he hesitated, then pushed on resolutely, “what if you started looking outside Britain?”

“What, on the Continent?” Draco scoffed. “I don’t actually speak anything other than English and just enough French to order food and find the loo.”

“What about America?”

Draco looked Neville over carefully. “You know something,” he decided. Nev was a great guy, kind and brave, but he was pants at hiding things. There was definitely a reason he was a Gryffindor and not a Slytherin. “Spit it out.”

Neville sighed but he grinned. “I know a school in the States that needs a Potions Professor. It’s small and isolated, but I can guarantee that no one there cares what role you played in the War.”

“Really?” Draco sat up, excited. “Nev, this is great! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I wouldn’t have said anything at all, if you weren’t so desperate,” Neville admitted, frowning. “Just knowing about the school, for me, is…part of a secret.” Draco slouched again. “Just…can you wait a couple days before you do anything?” Neville asked earnestly. “I need to talk to someone first. I don’t want to cause any problems.”

Draco frowned, confused. So apparently Nev could keep a secret. But he seemed pretty sure everything would work out, since he’d told Draco about the school. “Alright, sure, I can wait.” Neville flashed him a relieved grin. “What’s the name of this place?”

Neville looked like he was arguing with himself, but he did eventually answer. “It’s called the Appalachian Institute of Magic.” He scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair. “I’ll send you an owl in a couple days with the results of my conversation, yeah?”

* * *

 

Draco slammed down the lid on his last trunk (he only had two), locking it with a tap of his wand and shrinking it to fit in his pocket. He turned to give his tiny empty flat one last look.

Neville grinned at him from the doorway. “You look like a kid on a sugar rush,” he laughed.

“I feel like one,” Draco admitted, raking a hand through his hair. He hadn’t done anything so horrible as gel it in many years. “Twenty-five years old and I finally feel like an adult, but I still feel like a kid, you know?”

“I know,” Neville agreed. “I was like that when I built my first greenhouse. I finally felt like I could leave school behind, and everything that went with our school years. Like a brand new life.” He clapped Draco on the shoulder. “It’s about time you got a fresh start, yeah? Get to do what you love and be who you really are, not the person everyone else sees.”

Draco squeezed his arm, unreasonably touched by his friend’s words. Merlin, this being friends with a Gryffindor business was making him go soft! “Thanks, Nev. For everything.”

Neville ducked his head, a little embarrassed. “It wasn’t a problem. You’re a good guy, Draco. You’ll be a great professor.”

“Professor Malfoy. I like it.” Draco smirked. “But who’s going to supply my ingredients now? I’ve been spoiled on Longbottom quality, you know. I’m not sure anything else will be good enough.”

Instead of smiling or joking, like he’d thought he would, Neville looked away, biting at his lip, a habit Draco recognized as one he fell into when he worried.

“Nev?”

“Well, I can promise you that the AIM’s Herbologist is fantastic. He’s great, especially if you want to work with the local plants,” Neville said with forced casualness.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you saying?”

“You know how I was keeping the school a secret and I needed to talk to someone?” Draco nodded, worried now. He was started to be afraid that his new life was going to be over before he had a chance to live it. “Well, I, um, never did reach him.” The brown-haired man rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“So…” Draco prompted.

“So, he doesn’t know you’re coming,” Neville admitted. “There’s no problem with the job!” he rushed to explain. “No, that’s all set up and everything, that’s for real.”

Draco let out a huge breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. “So, what? You couldn’t talk to your secret friend but you told me to apply anyway?”

“I might’ve, yeah,” Neville said sheepishly. “But he kinda goes off during the summers, and you really needed the job! It’s just…it might be a shock, that’s all. I promised to keep it a secret.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Draco scoffed. He looked at Neville again. “Can it?”

“I don’t know,” Neville sighed. “Tell him something for me? Tell him I’m sorry, and not to run off again just yet. I know how happy he is there, and I don’t want to be the reason he has to move again.”

“You won’t even tell me who this guy is!” Draco pointed out, annoyed.

“You’ll know him when you see him,” was all Neville would say. He gave Draco a sad smile. “C’mon, I’ll go with you to the Ministry. You’ve got a portkey to catch, Professor Malfoy.”

* * *

 

The international portkey dropped Draco at a massive gate covered in some kind of thick, woody vine that obscured nearly the whole perimeter fence. He could barely make out the letters AIM in the center of the gate.

This wasn’t Hogwarts anymore.

An older man in a denim button up and khakis stepped forward. “Good afternoon Mr. Malfoy,” he greeted with an accent that wasn’t quite Southern American, “I’m Jacob Logan, the Dean.”

“Draco Malfoy,” he replied, shaking Logan’s callused hand. He felt overdressed, wearing robes next to this casually dressed man. “Thank you so much for accepting me here.”

Logan smiled. “Oh, you’re not the first foreigner to show up at our gate. The second, but not the first.” He pushed the gate open and led the way up the long, twisting walk.

“Who was the first?” Draco asked curiously. Was this the secret friend Neville had talked about so mysteriously?

“Our Herbologist.” So it was! “You’ll meet him at dinner tonight, along with the rest of the staff. He’s an odd fellow. Maybe a bit paranoid. He showed up a few years ago, just out of nowhere, asking about a job for a few years.” Logan frowned. “But I don’t like to speak ill of a colleague. He’s exceptional with the plants, ‘specially in the forests.”

They rounded a curve, skirting a thicket of trees, and stopped dead.

“This,” Logan gestured, “is the Appalachian Institute of Magic.”

The building looked like it had grown from the forest. It was set into the side of a mountain. The bottom half was made of rough-cut stone of varying sizes, but the top looked like the world’s biggest log cabin. The logs that made it were massive, so much bigger than anything Draco had ever seen before, and faded to a uniform aged-grey. Gardens were tucked in among the thick growth along both sides and climbing up the bottom of the slope behind. A largish, winding creek could been seen glinting through the woods, making several pools just big enough to swim in. It all would have looked awful and tacky in Britain.

It was perfect here.

“Quite a sight, isn’t she?” Logan said proudly. “The Natives started it up, back before the colonies. Probably in the fourteenth century, but no one really knows for sure. This might be the only place white men and Indians really lived together, without any violence.” Logan was clearly proud of this fact. Draco didn’t see much significance in it, but American history had never been an interest of his.

“It’s beautiful,” he admitted, and it was. It was just so…natural, but somehow just as imposing as the ancient castle of Hogwarts.

Logan grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you settled in before supper time. Then you can meet everyone.”

* * *

 

The room Logan took him to was on the top floor, in the corner of the building. The roof sloped down over his head, making it impossible for him to stand up on the far side, but only by a few inches. The bed was tucked under the sloping ceiling, leaving the other half free for his use. The room came with an (admittedly rather small and basic) en suite bathroom. He also had a desk, a pair of armchairs and a small table, and his own hearth that was big enough for him to sit upright in.

“It gets awful cold in these mountains in the winter, and the outside rooms get the worst of the winds,” Logan explained. He helped Draco unshrink the trunks, then led him back down the steep staircases to what he’d called the ‘mess hall.’

Draco didn’t even want to know.

“The students’ll get here on Sunday and start classes on Monday,” Logan was saying as they walked. “That gives you a week from today to learn your way around and plan your first lessons. I know that doesn’t sound like a whole lot of time, but feel free to ask if you need help, a’right? Most folks here’ll be happy to help.”

“Most?” Draco inquired dubiously.

Logan chuckled. “Eh, you know some folks, they just want to keep to themselves.” He pushed open a heavy wooden door held together with pegs and polished by centuries of hands. “So this here is our mess, and these’d be our other professors!”

The faces that turned to look at them were a mix of middle-aged, old, and very old, both men and women. Most gave him welcoming smiles, but a few looked suspicious of another foreigner in their midst.

“So!” Logan clapped his hands together. “Everyone, this is Draco Malfoy, from England, and our new Potions Professor. Draco, this is Eliza McConall, Transfiguration.” A middle-aged woman with short, dark hair going grey at the temples waved.

“David Morgan, Charms.” A man clearly into his sixties, slightly stooped but still bright-eyed.

“His great-nephew, Zach Morgan, Defensice Magic.” A man who looked around forty and had the same bright eyes as his great-uncle.

“Lotta Mae* Springer, our Healer.” A no-nonsense woman who reminded him strongly of Minerva McGonagall, who surveyed him intently.

“Isaac Prickett, History.” An absolutely ancient man glared at him distrustfully, barely inclining his head in greeting.

“Betty Snodgrass, Runes and Arithmancy.” The youngest woman of the lot, though she looked about fifty.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Draco said politely. They all murmured back greetings.

Draco took his place at the rectangular table. Logan sat at the head, Prickett at the other end, and the rest sat along both sides. Food appeared, just like at Hogwarts, though the menu was distinctly…not British. Thick slices of white bread, squares of cornbread, cider, roast venison and a mess of something that Zach said was called soupbeans. It was all rich and heavy, but very filling.

No one talked much as they were eating, but conversation picked up as people began to finish, leaning back in their chairs and mopping up the last drippings on their plates with slices of bread. They asked Draco the occasional question, but no one made any real effort the include him.

“Anyone heard anything of our wild man?” Betty asked after a while. Draco reckoned this must be their Herbologist and Neville’s secret friend. He certainly hadn’t known anyone he’d seen so far.

“Not since he left,” Lotta Mae answered. “He came in wantin’ to know what I wanted him to bring me.”

“I left a note up at his cabin,” Jacob Logan answered. “He’s always back a week before school, so we oughta see him tonight or tomorrow.”

“You’d think that boy might try getting’ back earlier,” muttered Isaac. “He stays out in them woods all summer, then he comes back shot to all hell right before school starts up again.”

“Isaac, leave it,” Jacob said wearily. They’d clearly had this argument before.

Just then the door banged open, revealing a slight figure with dark hair whose face was smeared with dirt. He wore fitted clothes that were made for wear and tear and had clearly gotten some, and soft leather slipper-type shoes on his feet. The figure tossed a dirty, frayed bag off his shoulder and into a corner.

“’Bout time you got back,” Isaac scolded. The man flashed a grin that was startlingly white amidst the grime caking his features.

“How’d your hunt go, wild man?” Jacob asked.

“Depends on the hunt you’re asking about,” the man answered. “The trapping was good this year, but sangers found a couple of my hideaways and cleaned them out.” He pulled out his wand, casting a cleaning charm to rid his face of dirt. Everything he spoke was in an English accent

A very familiar English accent.

Draco stared, open-mouthed, as bright, unforgettable green eyes blinked open and fixed on him. Neville’s secret friend. A man no one had seen since the Battle of Hogwarts. A man whose whereabouts were the greatest mystery of magical Britain.

“Oh, fuck,” muttered Harry Potter. He summoned his pack back to him and vanished.

“Damnit,” Jacob exclaimed. He turned to Draco. “You two know each other, don’t you?” Draco just nodded dumbly, still reeling from the shock of seeing the missing Harry Potter after eight years. “I take it you didn’t know he was gonna be here?” Jacob pressed.

Draco shook his head emphatically.

“Right,” Jacob sighed. “Well, let’s go see if we can catch him before he runs off. No one’d ever find him in these mountains if he does.”

He yanked Draco up to standing and apparated them away without warning.

* * *

 

They appeared on top of the mountain behind the school. There was a little cabin sheltered by a bluff close to the very crest, all but hidden by a pair of Weeping Willows.

“This is as close as I can get us,” Jacob explained. “He’s got some real strong wards around this place.” Draco just stared at him, and Jacob grunted in exasperation. “Let’s give him a holler, see if he’ll let you in. I can’t exactly lose him, you know,” he pointed out.

He turned toward the cabin. “Harry! How ‘bout talkin’ with me and Draco here before you run off?”

“Fine!” was the shouted answer.

Jacob grinned and marched toward the cabin, dragging Draco bodily behind him. Potter met them at the door, wand in hand.

“I don’t know how you found this place, Malfoy,” he growled, “but I’m not about to stick around just so you can sell me out, alright?”

“Harry, you can’t go!” Jacob pleaded. “I don’t have anyone to replace you.”

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” Potter said sincerely, “I really am, but I won’t go back to the life I had before.” He sighed heavily. “I’m thankful to you for taking me in five years ago, but I know enough to live on my own now. So sorry, Malfoy,” he added with a snarl.

“Potter, I’m not here to throw you to the press!” Draco finally snapped. Potter just narrowed his eyes. “I’m here because I needed a job and no one in Britain with hire me,” he admitted with a sigh. “Neville Longbottom told me about the AIM, but he never said you were here, just that it was part of a secret.” Potter wasn’t glaring anymore, but neither had his gaze become any less intense. “He said to tell you he’s sorry, but not to run off just yet. He knows how happy you are here and doesn’t want to be the reason you move again,” Draco relayed Neville’s words from earlier that day.

Potter was silent for a long time, studying him carefully. Jacob didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and watched.

“Alright,” Potter said finally. “Alright, Malfoy, Jacob. I’ll give it this year. If I get one hint of the press, I disappear,” he warned, “but I’ll trust you this much for the school year.”

“Great!” Jacob gripped Potter’s shoulder briefly. “I’ll head back down then, let you get settled in again.” He strode quickly to the edge of the wards and apparated.

“Malfoy.” Potter’s voice caught him just as he turned to follow. He turned back to meet those unforgettable green eyes. “Stay awhile, won’t you? It’s been a long time since I saw anyone from Hogwarts, other than Nev.”

As Potter stepped back to let him through the door, Draco couldn’t help but think it was like following a wolf into its den.

**Author's Note:**

> *Lotta Mae is (through a fun bit of regional pronunciation that people who aren't linguists will find boring) pronounced as 'Lottie May'.
> 
> A/N: So, I tried to write out the dialogue like the characters would actually say it. Everything sounds like an Appalachian accent in my head, so I messed with the spellings for those of you who aren't so lucky.
> 
>  
> 
> Fun Fact: Where I'm from (North-central West Virginia), Prickett, Morgan, Springer and Snodgrass are old family names. They've been around since before the American Revolution.


End file.
